


the things we said between the wars

by writerforlife



Series: things we said [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve is only mentioned (and lingers like a ghost), things we said
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerforlife/pseuds/writerforlife
Summary: Between Civil War and Infinity War, Peter and Tony learn what it means to care for each other, through injuries, happy times, and daily life.





	the things we said between the wars

**Author's Note:**

> So I adore the sweet spot between Civil War and Infinity War, so this fic is set here! Endgame is so close and I'm both... terrified and excited. Getting my Iron Dad content in while I can

_ Things you said while we were driving _

 

“Come on, kid, gas is on the right,” Tony said. “Put your foot down. Give her a little bit.”

“Mr.  _ Stark _ ,” Peter groaned.

Peter clenched the Audi’s wheel so hard that his knuckles bleached and wheel buckled a bit. Oh, well. Tony had other cars, even if he liked this one. Necessary sacrifices and all. The kid needed to learn how to drive, for better or worse. Right now, it was looking like  _ for worse _ . They crept along a back road at a speed that was, frankly, insulting to the vehicle Peter drove. 

“Kid,” Tony said. “Why are we going so slow?”

Peter made a frustrated noise. “I don’t want to hit something!” 

“What is there to hit?”

“What if something hits  _ us _ ?”

“You, Spider-Man, have the strength to survive and pull an old man out of the car.”

Peter groaned against and continued moving at a slow pace. Tony leaned back in his seat, feeling a half-smile form across his lips. God, this kid. He was something else. Swinging through New York, stopping two-ton cars hurled at him, and fighting Captain America were all fine, but driving a car, like a normal teenager? Sent him into an anxious spiral. It was weird. Tony liked that a lot. Normal kids were no fun. 

It wasn’t the first time Tony had taught someone to drive. He remembered—fondly, bitterly, a whole grab-bag of emotions he didn’t want to deal with—Steve Rogers squeezed behind the wheel of one of his cars, jaw set as he practiced driving with an automatic transmission. Poor guy had to get his driver’s license somehow. 

“Okay, so there’s a turn coming up,” Tony said. Peter plugged on. “Parker, turn.  _ Turn _ .” 

Peter swore under his breath. Instead of slowing then accelerating through the turn, his foot dropped on the gas and he  _ whipped  _ around the corner. Tony shouted as he slammed against the side of the car, and at the sound,  _ Peter  _ shouted and broke. Tony lurched toward the windshield, catching himself against the dashboard. 

They stared at each other. Peter’s eyes were wide. 

Then, they burst out laughing. 

Tony doubled over, his smile pulling at his cheeks as he laughed harder than he had in weeks. Maybe months. Tears rose in his eyes, and he wiped them away with his sleeve, settling back in his seat.

“Good God, you’re terrible at this,” Tony said.

Peter smiled and flushed red. “I don’t know why you’re letting me drive your car.”

Tony scoffed. “It’s because I care about you, ding dong.”

He expected Peter to make a smart comeback and keep driving, but he froze, eyes ahead and hands crushing the wheel.

“What did I say?” Tony asked. 

“You care about me?” Peter said quietly.

Oh. He  _ had  _ said that, hadn’t he?

A part of him wanted to deny it. Caring was a luxury he couldn’t afford in his life, especially when it could end at any moment. Howard would’ve denied it, though. Howard never said that he loved Tony, not even that he cared for him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. Come on.” He cuffed Peter’s gently on the back of the head. “Keep driving, Underoos.” 

Peter ducked his head, trying to hide a smile. 

Tony still noticed it. 

 

_ Things you said when you were scared _

 

Peter was about to open the doors to the lab when he heard voices. Tony was talking to someone—the conversation sounded serious. It wasn’t that he  _ meant  _ to eavesdrop. With his senses dialled up, he just… heard things. Even when he wasn’t supposed to. There was a little window in the doors leading to the workshop, so he peeked inside and tuned in. 

Tony sat on a table, frowning, arms folded over his chest. A military man—a general—stood in front of Tony, stance open and meant to intimidate. With a jolt, Peter realized who the general was.

Ross. 

“Stark, I don’t know what you expect me to think,” Ross said. “You’re obviously manufacturing his suits.”

“I manufacture a lot of things for a lot of people,” Tony replied. 

“Stark—”

“I don’t appreciate these insinuations. If I knew Spider-Man’s identity, I would not hesitate to tell you. Importance of protecting the city and all, especially that guy. You see him rescue a kid’s balloon the other day? Real threat.” 

“Like you wouldn’t hesitate to tell me what you know about Rogers?”

“I don’t know anything.”

“He vanished. You came back battered and bruised. Any moron can guess that you saw him. You keep enough secrets, Stark, they’re going to eat you alive one day.”

Peter had heard enough. He pushed open the door and walked inside, trying make his posture as intimidating as possible. Ross arched an eyebrow and studied Peter. Tony stood, fists clenched at his side, eyes darting between them.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Ross asked. 

“General Ross,” Tony said. “This is Peter Parker, my intern. Mr. Parker, this is General Ross. He’s leaving, soon.” 

Ross looked him over with an appraising look. Peter felt his skin crawl under the general’s gaze, but he forced himself to remain calm until Ross looked away, a grin playing across his face.

“Glad to see you have help, Stark. Tell Spider-Man to call me if you see him. Mr. Parker, it was a pleasure.” 

Tony sat at one of the benches as soon as the door shut, exhaling. Then, he stood and started pacing, not meeting Peter’s eye. He stopped in front of his liquor shelf, eyeing a whiskey bottle before continuing. After a moment, though, he returned and poured a glass. He downed it one sip.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked. He seemed mad. At Ross? At Peter, for interrupting? At the mention of Steve Rogers?

“Give me a minute, kid.” Tony poured himself another glass. This time, Peter noticed that the bottle quivered in his hand. He picked up the glass—that shook, too. He stared at the amber liquid, then set the glass down on the table. As his eyes closed, he rubbed his left wrist.

“I think I’m going to have a heart attack,” Tony mumbled.

“For real?” Peter asked. 

“No. Not yet, at least.” Tony opened his eyes and sighed. “I dislike that man. God, what an asshole. Between wanting to know about you and Rogers. Lord.” 

“Does he do that a lot?” 

“Yeah, he likes to hassle me. It’s okay, though. They can do what they want to me,” Tony said. “I’ll take it. They aren’t getting to you.” He swore and braced his shaking hands on the workbench. “He won’t.”

Suddenly, it hit Peter that Mr. Stark wasn’t angry—he was  _ scared _ . For Peter. He had no idea how to respond. Tony Stark was scared. It made him angry. Sentimental. Afraid, because if Tony was afraid, that meant  _ he  _ should be scared. Tony seemed to sense that, for he raised his head and smiled at him, eyes crinkling gently. It was nothing like his public smile; this was all softness, only meant for private company. 

“I mean it,” he said quietly. “We’re taking this step-by-step, but he won’t get to you. Want to work on your suit?”

Peter thought of a thousand questions. If Tony wanted to Accords, why would he hate Ross? What  _ had  _ happened with Captain America? Who knew the truth?

He meant to say,  _ yeah, of course I want to _ , but what came out was, “Are you scared of what he’ll do to you?”

“No,” Tony said immediately. “I don’t get afraid for myself. The people I care for, though.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. That makes me a little twitchy.” 

“Oh.” Peter felt his face flush, as it did every time Tony said he cared. “Wanna… wanna work on the suit?”

Tony smiled. “You read my mind.”

 

_ Things you said when you were drunk _

 

As soon as Peter walked into Tony’s workshop, he knew something was wrong. 

First off, it  _ reeked  _ of alcohol. He gagged on the combined scent of whiskey and coffee that permeated the air. Glasses and empty bottles littered the tables, some broken, others overturned or half-filled. Another feeling gave him his second reason as to why he thought something was wrong. Since being kidnapped, Tony had been off. He returned, battered but alive, but something had been wrong. Peter needed to ensure he was okay. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter called. 

Something clattered on the floor. Tony popped up, his hair fluffy and wild, eyes bleary. He stumbled and exhaled, putting his hands out to balance. “Whoa,” Tony said. “Your voice is loud. Like,  _ loud  _ loud.” He breathed out again and started pacing, shaking his hands out. “And my brain is going fast.  _ Fast  _ fast.” 

“Are you drunk?” Peter asked.

“A bit.”

“How much did you have to drink?”

Tony continued muttering under his breath, pacing, until he stopped and decidedly pronounced, “Peter.” 

“Yes?”

“Peter can’t see me drunk.”

“Mr. Stark…” 

“Nope, nope, he can’t see me drunk. He can’t know.”

“It’s a little too late. I’m already here.”

“No.” Tony shook his head vehemently. He clenched his fists, and  _ tears _ formed in his eyes. “No, you can’t be here.”

“Mr. Stark, do you want to go to bed?” He reached forward and tried to help him to the cot he kept in the corner, but Tony pushed him away. 

“No.” He swiped away tears—Peter had never seen him cry before. “No, I don’t want you to see me drunk. You can’t see me drunk.” 

“Why not?”

Tony leaned in conspiratorially, hands shaking. “Because then I’m like my dad. My dad was always drunk.  _ Always  _ drunk. He hit me when he was drunk. If I hit Peter, I would never forgive myself. Don’t want him to know I’m bad.” 

With that, Tony began to sob harder. 

“Oh…” Peter had no clue what to say. He knew that Tony had problems, knew that he drank and had panic attacks when Peter wasn’t looking, but confronted with it, he felt terrible. Powerless. “I don’t think you’re bad, Mr. Stark. Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” 

He guided him to the cot and helped him lay down, positioning him on his side. Tony hugged a pillow to his chest, still crying. Peter knelt at the foot of the bed and eased Tony’s shoe’s off, setting then neatly at the edge, then pulled a blanket over him. After, he cleaned up the workshop, sweeping up broken glass, throwing away bottles, and reorganizing the liquor shelf. Once he finished that, he took the cot at the other end of the workshop and slept. He didn’t remember falling asleep, only a wave of exhaustion and the following nothingness. 

When he woke, Tony stood over his bed. 

Peter yelped and jolted upright. Unlike last night, Tony seemed composed. He’d showered, and his hair was neatly combed; his eyes were puffy and bloodshot, but the rest of his appearance compensated for it. 

“You cleaned everything,” Tony said. 

“Yeah,” Peter replied, not looking him in the eye. 

“What did I say last night?” 

“Mr. Stark—”

“I need to know, Peter.” His voice broke a little bit on Peter’s name. “If I said something harmful, or terrible, I want to fix it, I want to—”

“You told me that you were afraid of hitting me. Of being like your dad because you were drunk.” Peter gauged Tony’s reaction. His jaw twitched, but beyond that, he remained motionless. “I didn’t know that he hit you.”

“I didn’t want you to know that.” Tony ran his hand over his beard. “But yeah. He hit me. He was a drunk and a shit dad.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said quietly.

“I’m sorry you had to see me drunk. It’s just I was looking at some things about Bucky Barnes, and…” He shook his head. “The Accords were a shitshow.” 

“What were you looking at?”

“Old things. I think I’m going insane. Or maybe getting paranoid. Every corner I turn in Steve Roger’s life, there’s Barnes.”

Peter furrowed his brow. “Is that so crazy?”

Tony scoffed. “Yeah, it is. Why don’t we do breakfast, yeah? Breakfast.” 

As Peter followed Tony to one of his Audis, a realization struck him. He’d known Tony Stark had enough secrets for a dozen people, and had known that things were bad between him and Steve Rogers, but he hadn’t connected the two. Nobody really  _ did  _ know what had ultimately happened between Barnes, Rogers, and Tony, least of all Peter. He wondered if Tony would ever tell anyone. 

If he would ever tell him. 

 

_ Things you said in your sleep _

 

Peter was sick. 

Not  _ Christ, he needs to go to the hospital  _ sick, or even  _ He’s going to die, better get the priest _ sick. Tony knew that. It was still bad, though. Peter had thrown up a few times and was too weak to stand for long periods on his own, and he was running a fever. Of course it was the weekend he was with Tony. May was out of town for a weekend with friends, and Tony sure as hell wasn’t going to bother her about this. Peter was going to be fine. 

Tony just needed to… sit by the kid’s beside until he believed it.

It was easier this way. With Pepper on a business trip, he’d just be laying alone in his bedroom, wondering if Peter was puking his brains out or passed out facedown on the floor. Like this, he knew that the kid was still breathing. 

Tony sighed and leaned back in his chair. Peter was curled onto his side, a pillow hugged to his chest. His hair and face were sweaty, but the usual line between his brow was absent. Something warmed bloomed in Tony’s chest. Oh, God. Had he caught what Peter had? Probably not. He didn’t feel like he was going to puke.

That meant it was probably sentiment. 

_ Sentiment _ . Maybe it was time to admit he actually cared for the kid. The kid, who was all snuggled up in a bed so big it nearly swallowed him and quiet for once. Yeah, maybe he did care. Just a little. He wanted him to be safe. He wanted him to be happy. If he could trade places with Peter and deal with the chills and fever and puking himself, he would do it without hesitation—even with how the arc reactor made viruses hell. 

Shit. He really did care for the kid. 

“I can’t believe I’m watching you sleep,” Tony muttered. 

He almost liked it, though. Peter was sick, yeah, but that was something he could control. Villains and criminals that decided to take a shot at Spider-Man? Much less he could do against that, even with all the high-tech suits and surveillance in the world. He hated that. He hated that he couldn’t protect him against everything the world could throw.

Peter shifted in his sleep, curls falling into his face. Tony’s heart clenched as he slowly reached forward and brushed the hair from Peter’s eyes, hands trembling slightly. A sleepy smile spread across Peter’s face.

“The pancakes are getting cold,” Peter murmured. 

“What?” Tony asked. 

“The snake aliens want to get me. Snake. Aliens. Snaliens.” Peter rolled onto his back and grimaced. “No, snaliens.  _ Nooooooo _ .”

Tony smiled to himself. Adorable, really. He liked that Peter talked in his sleep and said random things. Something to laugh at. Rhodey did it sometimes, particularly in college. He could lead him through the weirdest conversation, but somehow, it didn’t feel right doing that to Peter. “Kid, relax, the snaliens aren’t real.”

“Go away, snaliens,” Peter said. “Get away from Mr. Stark.” 

Tony froze, not quite sure what to say. 

“You can’t have Mr. Stark, snaliens!” 

He ran his hand over his beard. Was Peter protecting  _ him _ ? In his dreams? Against some weird snake aliens? He didn’t know how he felt about that, about the kid dreaming about him and saving him. It felt too… domestic. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Peter jolted awake and blinked a few times as he sat up, then frowned. “Mr. Stark? I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Okie dokie, then let’s go.” Tony dragged him from bed, supporting most of his weight, and set him down in front of the toilet. Peter fell forward, but Tony pulled him back and supported him as he puked. Peter’s body quaked with each dry heave; the sounds were mixed with quiet sobs. The kid really, truly hated puking. Tony wouldn’t leave him alone, though. God, life was funny. He hadn’t realized he loved the kid during a battle or a party, but kneeling on the cold bathroom floor in the middle of the night while Peter emptied his stomach. 

When Peter finished, Tony gave him a glass of water to wash out his mouth, then helped him back to bed. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter murmured as he yawned and pulled the covers to his chin.

Tony gently pressed his hand to Peter’s forehead. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

_ You can’t have Mr. Stark, snaliens _ .

So ridiculous. Yet ridiculously, hilariously sweet.

 

_ Things you said while I cried in your arms _

 

“Peter!”

Peter jerked his head up at the sound of his name. Tony jogged down the hospital corridor, his expensive Armani suit out of place among the doctors, nurses, and other visitors. He’d had a charity gala tonight. Peter knew that. He still called.  _ Please come _ , he’d said.  _ There was an accident. Please come.  _

“Hey, Peter.” Tony knelt in front of him. “Talk to me, buddy.”

Peter opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. May. Accident. Hospital. Surgery. God, how many times had he done this? First, his parents. Then, Ben. Both times he’d been in the hospital; both times he’d watched doctors walk down the hallway grimly. Before he could stop himself, he imagined the funeral process, the eulogy he’d have to give, her body laid out in a coffin. How would he pay for it? How would he pay for the hospital bill.”

“Yeah, I need information on May Parker,” Tony said to a nurse. 

Peter’s chest tightened. He hadn’t seen it happen, but Karen hacked into street cams for him. May had been crossing the street, and a driver just… hadn’t looked. It was that simple. No supervillains, nothing with Spider-Man. Just a chance accident. 

“Okay, come on.” Tony pulled Peter to his feet and guided him around the corner to an empty hallway with a wooden bench. He helped Peter sit down, then settled next to him, quiet for once. “Say something, please,” he finally whispered. 

“We can’t afford the bill,” Peter said. 

“Taken care of,” Tony said. “Hit me with the next problem.” 

“She’s going to die.”

“Peter—”

“I know how this goes, Mr. Stark. I lost my parents, I lost Ben, and now I’m going to lose her and be an orphan. For the second time.”

“Hey,” Tony said. He cupped Peter’s face in his hands, his eyes bright. “Listen to me. I talked to that nurse. She’s in surgery, but they’re expecting her to pull through. She’ll be in some pain, but I’ll make sure she’s on the good stuff. She’s going to be okay.”

“I’m scared,” Peter whispered. “I’m terrified. She’s in  _ surgery. _ I can’t lose her, too. Mr. Stark.” He felt his lower lip quiver.  _ Don’t cry _ , he told himself.  _ Don’t cry.  _

It didn’t work.

He began to sob. 

He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders quaking. He stood up, needing to get away before he embarrassed himself too much, but Tony put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I can’t lose her,” Peter whispered. 

Tony pulled Peter into his arms. Peter buried his face in the crook of Tony’s neck, smelling his aftershave and cologne, as Tony rubbed his hand up and down Peter’s back. Tony pulled him closer, pressing his lips to the top of Peter’s head; he rocked him slightly, keeping his arms tight around Peter. The tears kept coming, and he couldn’t stop shaking. He wanted to—wanted to stop shaking, stop crying. He was ruining Tony’s suit that was probably worth more money than he had in his bank account, but he couldn’t  _ stop. _

“I have you,” Tony said softly. “Kid, I have you.”

“What if…” Peter sucked in a breath. “What if she  _ dies _ ? What if she actually dies?” 

He ran his hand through Peter’s curls as he held him. “May and I talk. Don’t seem so surprised. She said if anything happened to her, she wanted me to take care of you. I know I’m not May, but I would give you the best home I possibly could. You would never be alone, you would never go to bed hungry, and I would protect you. I would do whatever I could to make you happy and safe and cared for. I promise. I’m not much… but I would try to be enough.”

Peter pulled away from Tony, sniffling. Tony curled his shoulders in and dipped his head, looking away from him. Despite the grief, Peter felt something new in his chest. Gratitude. Wonder. Maybe even love. Tony could be serious, even genuine, but he’d never seen him speak with so much sincerity and conviction. And it was about  _ him _ . 

“You mean all of that?” Peter asked. 

Tony nodded. “Of course.”

Peter curled into Tony’s side and rested his head on his shoulder. Tony wrapped an arm around Peter’s back. They stayed like that for hours, activity and people ebbing and flowing around them, until a doctor found them. Peter stood, ready, waiting for the inevitable.

“She’s going to be just fine,” the doctor said. 

She kept talking, but her words faded away. Tony listened. Peter pressed his hands to his mouth and stepped away, feeling tears rise again. Only when the doctor left did Tony turn to Peter and smile gently.

“Do you want to see her?” Tony asked.

Peter threw himself into Tony’s arm, holding him tight. Tony’s breath hitched, but he wrapped his arms around Peter. 

“Thank you,” Peter whispered. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Tony didn’t reply. When he pulled away, though, he smiled softly, eyes tired and clothes rumpled. “You don’t have to do anything alone, kid. Not now, not ever.”

As they walked to see May together, Peter’s urge to cry faded. 

 

_ Things that you always meant to, but never did _

 

Tony sat outside the MedBay, elbows resting on his knees and head in his hands. Rhodey strode down the hallway toward him, finishing up his conversation on the phone. Once he hung up, he sat down wordlessly in the chair next to Tony, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked at the bruise decorating Tony’s eye and grimaced.

“You ice that yet?” Rhodey asked.

“Other priorities,” Tony mumbled. He opened up his tablet to check vitals.  _ Peter’s  _ vitals.

“You can go sit with him, you know. And he’s going to be okay.”

Tony didn’t reply. 

“You know he’ll be okay,” Rhodey repeated. His phone rang, and he stepped away to take the call. Tony closed his eyes.

He couldn’t stop seeing it.

They’d only been going for breakfast. Just breakfast. Peter had a favorite place where they knew him and gave him extra pancakes for free. He hadn’t brought a suit. Pepper wanted him to stop having back-up suits wherever he went. He tried. 

As they’d been walking, a fucking  _ portal  _ had opened up above a few skyscrapers, and some guys in weird costumes with weird blaster-gun-weapon things jumped onto the rooftop and started running to who-knew-where. Peter, the little shit, had worn his suit under his clothes, and hadn’t hesitated to pull on his mask and leap toward the sky. Tony had watched as Peter, as Spider-Man, swung from building to building and took five of six guys down without stopping. The sixth guy, though, turned and fired his gun. Tony balked as Peter dodged and engaged, throwing punches and swinging with ease. People on the street gathered and cheered. Peter took down the last guy, but not before he could blast Peter in the chest.

With the impact, Peter swooned off the side of the building in free fall. 

He didn’t slow down. 

Tony had whispered Peter’s name, then shouted it as the kid—his fucking kid—slammed agains the pavement. 

He remembered screaming, remembered cradling Peter and grappling for a pulse, people swarming around him, medics pulling him away from Peter’s body, realizing that this could be it, he could lose Peter, and—

“What’s on your mind?” Rhodey asked quietly, interrupting his thoughts. 

“You know who I was thinking of the entire time?” Tony started. “Steve Rogers.”

“What? Why?”

“Rhodey, I didn’t have a suit. I was useless. Hell, I would’ve been a liability if I tried to do anything. When he was falling…” Tony’s voice caught, but he pushed on. “I just watched. There was nothing I could do. Absolutely nothing. But you know what? Thor could’ve helped him. Bruce could’ve hulked out. Steve.” He nodded to himself. “Steve could’ve gotten up there and helped him. He never would’ve fallen.” 

“You can’t do this to yourself, Tony.” 

“Peter would’ve liked Thor. God, I can even see him getting along with Clint and Natasha. Don’t even get me started on Banner. Kid would’ve  _ freaked _ .”

“Tones—”

“Steve, though. They’re so similar. They’re both  _ good.  _ Or try to be. I can see them getting along, being little shits together.” 

Rhodey sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“An eternity.” Tony tapped his foot against the floor, checking Peter’s vitals again. Steady. “I’ve been thinking,” he finally said. “I’m going to put the arc reactor back in.”

“You’re going to do  _ what _ ?” 

“I’ve been developing something. Nanotechnology. It would mean I’d have a suit with me at all times. Things have been getting weird, lately, lots of ghosts. I want to be ready. The nanites need a housing unit, though, and I thought, why not the arc reactor? Might as well put that hole in my chest to good use.”

“Pepper knows?”

“We’ve discussed.” Tony recognized the fearful expression on Rhodey’s face, the anxiety that he would spiral again. “Look,” he said gently. “This isn’t just because of today. It’s a catalyst, though. I never, ever want to watch what I watched today again. I thought I was about to watch him die, Rhodey. I never want to feel that powerless again.”

Rhodey nodded. “Okay. Not today, though. Go see your kid.”

_ He isn’t my kid _ , Tony was about to say as he stood. He stopped short. Shit. He kinda thought of Peter as his kid. Just a tad. Rhodey chuckled as Tony walked away, toward Peter’s room. Tony lingered in the doorway for a moment, head down before he looked at the bed. Peter lay with his eyes closed, wires snaking from him. The bruises covering his pale arms and face were already purpling, while long and wide scratches decorated every inch of visible skin. Tears burned behind Tony’s eyes.

He moved into the room and sat on the edge of Peter’s bed, then touched his hand to his own chest, where the arc reactor once rested. The prospect of putting in back in again made his heart pound. Since the surgery, he hadn’t missed the practicalities behind maintaining it—the pain every time he sneezed or coughed, the extra weight when he ran, the soft glow at all time. It wouldn’t be fun, but having another day like this would be less fun. 

“Wanna know a secret, kid?” Tony whispered. “I miss Rogers. When we worked together, it was good. We disagreed about a lot of things, but he’s a good man. I always meant to tell him that. On days like today, I want to call him, but I… I can’t He could’ve kept you out of this bed. I’ll be better for you, Pete. Hand to God.” 

He wrapped his hand around Peter’s and squeezed it softly. Peter shifted slightly in his sleep, toward Tony, and Tony felt warmth blooming in his chest. 

 

_ Things you said that I didn’t understand _

 

Peter loved weekends at the compound. It wasn’t even the thrill of being at the Avengers Compound (it was a  _ small _ part of it). He loved it most because of the time he got with Tony. 

Tony was softer on the weekends. He smiled easier, and his entire face crinkled up when he smiled genuinely. Peter liked trying to earn that smile. Now, Tony was in the kitchen, cooking dinner; Peter sat curled on the couch and watched, a blanket over his sore legs. Everything was achy, still, from the fall after the portal-aliens. Tony had been protective, lately, and jumpy about everything. He’d put the arc reactor back in. As he cooked, the device glowed a gentle blue, illuminating the saucepan. Outside, it was raining. Peter felt warmth spreading through his chest. This, he realized, was what peace felt like. 

“It’s been awhile since I cooked,” Tony said. “Especially this dish. Pecan pesto shells with sausage. If you don’t like this, I’m writing you out of my will. I taught Steve Rogers how to make this dish.” He laughed to himself. “Poor guy was still boiling everything and giving it a dash of salt. I guess that comes when you grow up in the forties.”

“What, um…” Peter fumbled with the words. He wanted to know more about Captain America, had for a long time, but Tony never brought him up. “What’s he like?”

“Steve? Oh, he’s both a bastard and a stickler simultaneously. Did you know that one time he scolded me for saying  _ shit _ ? Like he didn’t grow up in the forties and curse like a goddamn sailor. He’s a bit of an anarchist, though. I’d call him to personification of walking to the beat of your own drum. You’d like him, I think. Better than me.” 

“Whoa, Mr. Stark.” He wrapped himself in the blanket and padded to the kitchen. Tony didn’t meet his eye and he pushed himself onto the counter. “Better than you?”

Tony shrugged.

“You don’t really believe that,” Peter said quietly. “Do you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“Why?” 

“Look, you have to understand where I’m coming from.” Tony turned to faced Peter, arms folded over his chest and eyes downcast. “You don’t remember how I was. He was always good, always had a moral compass better than God’s. Me… I have a lot to atone for, kiddo. I’m not a good person, but I’m trying.”

“And you think that would make me like him better than you? Mr. Stark, I don’t understand that. You’ve made mistakes, but I have, too. You didn’t say I was a bad person after the incident with the ferry.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because you didn’t kill people!” Tony swiped his eyes, then looked at the pan. “Shit, the sauce.” He quickly stirred it, shoulders tensed. 

“You didn’t know,” Peter whispered. Tony didn’t reply. “You didn’t. I read a lot about you after Germany. I wanted to know what I was getting into. If I hadn’t liked you, I wouldn’t have tried to impress you all the time. I…” His face flushed. “I really like you, Mr. Stark. I haven’t had someone like you in my life since Uncle Ben died.”

Tony’s shoulders relaxed. When he turned back to Peter, his eyes were red, but his smile was soft. “You know, if there was some time-fuckery, and I went back in time to tell 2008 me that I was currently cooking my mom’s recipe for a teenager I lo—cared for deeply, I wouldn’t believe it. I was an asshole back then. I’m okay with who I am now, though.” He nodded to himself. “Go sit on the couch. Go. Your legs are still healing.”

“But you need help with—”

“I need to not have a heart attack before I turn fifty. Go  _ sit _ .”

Peter trudged back to the couch and curled up, watching as Tony took the pan off the stove and grabbed two plates. He heaped most of the pasta onto Peter’s plate, put the rest on his own, and then brought them both to the couch. He sat next to Peter, watching with his eyebrow raised as he took his first bite. 

“Mr. Stark, this is delicious,” Peter said with his mouth full. And it  _ was.  _ Holy shit. “You need to cook more often.”

“Maybe I will. Just for you.” He smiled and turned on the TV. 

They ate quietly, Food Network playing in the background. Once Peter finished, he set his plate on the coffee table and yawned. Tony put his empty plate next to Peter’s, then stretched out on the couch. Peter looked at Tony’s open posture, heart pounding. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his head onto Tony’s shoulder. Tony could push him away. He could tell him to get off or that he was being childish. He could laugh. There were a thousand ways he could reject Peter, each worse than the last. 

Tony inhaled sharply.

“I can move,” Peter whispered. 

“No,” Tony replied. “You’re good.”

He wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulder, hold solid yet gentle, and pulled him closer. Outside, rain pattered against the window, thunder rolling in the distance. Tony’s hand worked through Peter’s hair, once, twice, over and over. Peter smiled to himself. 

Maybe he’d made Tony understand something—he was here to stay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Marvel with me @such-geekiness on tumblr!


End file.
